Where Darkness Prospers
by Ten Thousand Ravens
Summary: After falling under an enchanted spell, Thorin is determined to find a cure for Bilbo, even when it is only Thranduil who wields one. (BagginShield)


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Whether it be from stolen glance, inquiries from the rest of the company or the terrible need consuming him, Thorin cursed his attraction for the hobbit. It had awoken the night his foe was hauled to the ground by the small thing. Now the dignity in him was boosting as was the respect. He seemed like such a burden they all could not help trying to resist the wizard's method, but now he was revealing a side they never knew existed.

So it altered them into a fluster as they loomed in the ill forest, seated upon logs for the ache in their legs had grown strong when Kili called for their presences and they found Bilbo lolling on the ground, his arms and legs stretched out, but motionless as his mind wandered farther into darkness.

"What happened to him?" the dwarves asked among themselves as Thorin collapsed to his side.  
His eyes were swift to observe, catching view of the fallen water pouch that were almost in Bilbo's grasp and Thorin lifted it to his nostrils. "What is this?" he queried, glancing first to his oldest nephew than his second, the one he assumed most likely to be involved in such schemes.

Kili stammered, searching for a pardon from his uncles's fumes while Fili took forth. "It's...some of these enchanted water."

"It was only for keeps." Kili had retrieved his voice and now came to justify. "We didn't think he would drink it."

Thorin's glare lurked, almost like he was set to pounce upon them, but it weakened at the sight of Bilbo now embraced by slumber.

He called to Oin as his trembling hand attempt to heave him awake, but Bilbo was still motionless upon the healer's arrival. Oin had collapsed to his knees, observing each detail of his fallen body, until he could only withdraw and shake his head. "There is nothing my remedies can heal. He is under an enchantment I have never seen before."

Thorin's mind shattered and his heart dropped.

"I say we turn back and find Gandalf," said Gloin.

"We've lost the path already. There is no way out unless we continue straight," Balin protested.

They would have to amble on, advance through the illness that had been cast upon the forest. Before they took ill themselves. Perhaps their journey to the overpass, on the outskirts of the desolation would be swift, Thorin hoped. But for that they would need to proceed quickly.

()

_"You shouldn't have done that." Bilbo stood motionless upon Thorin's side, viewing across the vast length of death illness coiling around the forest. _

_An arrow rested on the leaves, released from Thorin's lowering bow, frightening the elk that had stride by. He had shifted his stare to the hobbit, his glare speaking only mental words that pierced in his mind._

_"It's bad luck," whispered Bilbo, lowly, but Thorin only retorted._

_"I don't believe in luck. We make our own luck." He had not heard sound, save his companies grumbles of distress, since upon entrance._

And now silence settled, silence that had grown near to all of them, for they ambled farther into oblivion, a search for escape and a cure for their friend in desire. But Thorin heard the voice that pondered in his head.

He glanced down to Bilbo, still devoured by slumber and enchantment, and his voice echoed in Thorin ears. Had it been only luck, bad luck, that his concealed love had descended into doom? Perhaps it was more than just a tale and an assuming delusion. Was he cursed with bad luck? Losing his grandfather and his home to a drake, then have his father's existence wither away, now to end him with his only beloved taking ill and on the verge of death, was it more than coincidence...

"Uncle! Uncle this way!" Fili called out, somehow thrusting the role of the leader upon himself.

The rest followed in its usual heard, but Thorin's steps halted.

Noise had been so content before, he could only hear the whisper of Bilbo's light snore. But now something was stirring in the path ahead, altering closer and higher, mocking them through hisses. Elves? No...no, he swore himself they wouldn't be, Thorin had every right to despise them. He would kill them before he killed an orc.

"What was that?" asked Kili, coming closer to his brother.

"It's coming closer," observed Oin as he leaned his ear farther against his trumpet.

"Spiders," Balin replied. "Gaint ones are known to roam these parts."

"Then we stand and fight." Dwalin grunted while his axe lifted and many of the dwarves agreed, though Thorin did not.

It would only spare time.

"No. We must hurry and find Gandalf at the overpass. He may have a cure for the Hobbit." He drew Bilbo closer. "Come, we must hurry."

Set to proceed once again, now more cautious than before, almost all hand their hands slinking out from their sides and upon their holsters, the sound advanced. They would have to move swiftly and hushed if they were to succeed, though they wouldn't.

In the end a spider lunged upon them from behind.

Gloin and Dwalin took to their axes, Kili to his arrows, Ori to his sling shot and Fili to his knives, as the rest withdrew. Thorin would have attempted battle if his mind and arms had not been occupied by Bilbo. But he trusted his companions to slay the spiders without hesitation. Though they did not need the effort, for arrows glide through the sky, piercing the head of the spider, startling it enough to bolt.  
And all eyes fell to the Woodland elves, emerging from the ill trees, their bows still lifted high in the air and their arrows in aim.


End file.
